


The Protean Dream

by Apfelessig



Category: Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms
Genre: Apfelessig AU, Art Crime, Auction, Research, Shapeshifting, art and antiques unit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-10 01:38:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19488520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apfelessig/pseuds/Apfelessig
Summary: As artifact acquisition methods go, the auction is Lara's least favourite. Still, if the item is dangerous enough, she'll go toe to toe in any arena...---Or: so you want to know about the world of high end art auctions?(Research links included, as always <3)





	The Protean Dream

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [zetared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zetared/pseuds/Zetared) for providing inspiration for the artifact!

As conflict arenas go, few operate under as many unique specifications or carefully scrutinized cameras as a Christie's jewelry auction. While crime is a global applied concept, the opportunity for it crystallizes around two things that are here in high abundance: money and sparkle. 

For once, theft was the last thing on Lara's mind. Christie's was the largest and most famous auction house in the world. With a niche in unattainable collections, it operated as a byword for luxury items, sold by and to a distant world unreachable to the majority of the population. Auction totals reached into the hundreds of millions of pounds. The security, to say the least, was not to be trifled with.

With her HKs safely locked away at home, Lara's weapon of choice here was her least favourite: money. Even more to her dislike, she had to do combat publicly against opponents who, for once, evenly matched her resources. She hadn't planned it this way. She hadn't planned to be here at all.

She'd known about the exhibit peripherally—it was a good idea to keep an eye on what the larger auction houses were doing, if they weren't updating her directly already, frequent buyer that she was. It wasn't until yesterday that she'd sat down to peruse the lot listings, and had wasted a perfectly good mouthful of Earl Grey tea when she saw _it._

Lot 56. 

Projected above the auctioneer's table in the surprisingly sombre room, the large sapphire pendant looked unremarkable in the long line up of jaw-dropping jewels and gem-laden pieces. Its cord was likely new leather, given the thing itself was centuries old, but the various silver and diamond festoons were ageless.

Not priceless, however. The auctioneer announced a starting bid of £80,000. Lara raised her paddle.

Focused as she was on the playing field, it took Lara unusually long to realize who had just sat down beside her.

"Detective Sergeant McCleary."

"Lady Abingdon."

Lara grimaced. The detective sergeant was a handsomely featured woman who hid a sharp wit behind methodical speech and action. She was also the head of the Metropolitan Police Service's Art and Antiques Unit, the department that ran point on all art crime that had a stake in London. Since London had not only a Christie's, but also a Sotheby's, a Bonham's, and a Philip's, alongside a hundred other houses, plus some of the world's most renowned museums and criminal networks, the four person unit was almost continually run ragged. 

This had not stopped DS McCleary from taking a keen interest in Lara's personal involvement with an illicit art dealing some years ago, to Lara's great inconvenience at the time. Even after the Tomb Raider had all but gift-wrapped the persons responsible, the detective sergeant hadn't relaxed her wary eye.

Lara must have been off her game, not to expect her at the year's most highly anticipated jewelry auction.

"I trust you're well?"

"As well as can be."

Lara raised her hand. £95,000. "And how is DC Sabharwal? Recovered nicely?"

"On the mend, yes." DS McCleary waited for Lara to bid again before she said, "Of course, we weren't able to accept your gift basket of organic herbal teas. Ethics, you understand."

"I'm not under investigation," Lara said impatiently. She upped the bid by £20,000 to move things along. "As far as I'm aware."

"All the same."

"It had linden in it."

"Yes. Certainly a thoughtful gesture. We gave it to the Financial Fraud unit."

 _Note still attached, no doubt._ Another bidder entered the mix. Lara nearly took out the detective sergeant's eye with her next bid.

"Apologies."

"Not at all."

The recent addition backed out just as quickly, leaving Lara with her original adversary. She snapped a scorching glare at the back of his head.

"Personal friend?" DS McCleary asked lightly. "He seems to have deep pockets."

 _Mine are deeper,_ Lara thought. _Or I'll shoot him._

"By my estimation you're at almost double that pendant's value," McCleary remarked.

Lara scowled and upped the bid by another leap, drawing a subtle inhale from the crowd. 

"It is rather stunning. Planning a grand outing?"

Lara grunted. _I'm going to seal it in an oxygen free container on a pressure sensitive plate in my vault._

"I acquainted myself with this exhibit beforehand," McCleary continued in the same conversational tone. "I remember this piece."

_Shut up._

"It came from the collection of a Sir Alan Waltham. He went missing some years ago, was declared dead only last winter."

_Probably because he wore the necklace too long._

"It's certainly got a strong grip on you, Ms. Croft, you and your formidable opponent."

 _Time to end this_. She'd wanted a less flashy option, but it was this or shoot the other bidder and she wasn't carrying.

She tapped her cheek twice with two fingers and mouthed 'double'. There was a questioning eyebrow raise that Lara confirmed with a quick nod. The auctioneer didn't miss a step calculating the total and announced clearly, "£420,000, to the lady in the back."

The room erupted into hissed exclamations, likely the sound of Lady Lara, Countess of Abingdon's reputation seeping farther into the ground. Hang them. There was a time for subtlety, and it was not while sitting tea-deprived in a gloomy room being piqued by the gaffer of the Art and Antiques Unit.

DS McCleary had fallen silent.

"Going once, twice—"

_Don't._

"Sold for 420,000 pounds with a decisive final bid."

That got a laugh. The auctioneer was good, skilled at bringing extravagance to the norm. She knew he'd be able to ride the feel of daring into the next two lots, at least. That was a 20% or 30% bonus for everyone. Lara accepted the awed congratulations from her seat neighbours as she gathered her things. DS McCleary was more circumspect.

"Overpriced if you ask me, but I'm sure you know its true value. Tell me, is 'Victory at all costs' the Croft family motto?"

She gave McCleary a thin smile.

" _Esse quam videri._ Good afternoon, DS McCleary."

"Good afternoon, your ladyship."

\---

Lara walked to the claimant's area, feeling her feathers settle. It wasn't the money. It was never the money, and she didn't waste energy trying to feel false modesty. She supposed she should be glad there was only one serious competitor. If rumours of the pendant's ability were better known, the bidding would have easily run to double or triple what Lara had bought it for.

It wasn't over, she knew.

The other bidder had done a half-turn after her outrageous bid and she'd caught a glimpse of his tight-set jaw and sleepless eyes. This was a man already haunted by what the pendant offered. He'd conceded here, in this public arena, but there were other places to have a scrap.

A soft clearing of the throat confirmed it.

"My sincere congratulations, Lady Abingdon. Quite the resounding victory. I feel quite put in my place."

She turned. The man could have been in his late 30s by the trim of his shoulders, but his face had a pallor that told of recent rapid aging. It was the eyes, the infamous windows to the soul, that told her the rest of the story. They looked as though they'd been left open too long.

"One does one's best for a captivating piece," she said. "Wouldn't you agree...?"

His head bowed. "Lord Arthur Ridley."

"Charmed."

"I must say, my family has long held a personal interest for the pendant. The Walthams were... close friends."

"A tragic loss," Lara offered. "One can't help but feel the matter is unsettled. Without a body."

"Yes." He hadn't blinked. "It would be remiss of me not to offer, however gauche this must seem, say, 30% over your bid? On top of the buyer's premium, of course."

He had a brittle smile that engaged no other part of him than his teeth.

"I'm afraid I have to disappoint you, Lord Arthur."

"Hah, a true opponent! Very well, I can do 40%—"

"I'm not interested—"

"Double, then," he snapped. "You see, I am also capable of grand gestures."

A half-step toward him let Lara scan their surroundings discreetly. No McCleary. She tucked her head to her shoulder as she leaned in.

"My father always said that accepting a gracious defeat was the mark of a true gentleman." Her tone was light, her eyes were not. It had the desired effect. Lord Arthur looked slapped. 

And there was the truth of it. She knew the look of a rich man who'd been denied a desired toy. There was no obstinance here. There was only the broken prism of the true obsessive, filtering between cajoling and taking.

He recovered, somewhat. "Just as you say, Lady Abingdon. I wish you joy with it." He bobbed his head and fled into the crowd, bumping into shoulders.

No. It wasn't over.

\---

Night lay dead in the Croft townhouse. Under the firm press of a gloved hand, the front door clicked open, closing quickly behind a dark figure. The intruder slithered across stone flooring into the first available room. The search work was disciplined and thorough, though after the ground floor seemed not to satisfy, the movements became hasty. After casting about desperately, the search continued upstairs on muted footsteps.

In the first floor bedroom, the figure hesitated in the doorway. The bed was occupied by a soft mound, half-shadowed by the sodium street lamps. The figure drove forward—

"I'd hoped you wouldn't come."

A lamp clicked on. Lara stood against the wall. Lord Arthur blinked furiously in the light. He took in the duvet stuffed under the bed sheet, the wall art, the pendant around Lara's neck.

"Give me that," he said hoarsely.

"No."

"You have no idea what it does!"

"The Protean Dream, first recorded in legend in 12th Century Byzantium manuscripts. It was said to grant a God's power to transform into any creature. It destroyed those who used it too often. But you know that," she said softly, "probably better than I do."

It was impossible to say whether the ashen sheen of his skin was fear or rage.

"Lesser men," he hissed.

"No," Lara said. "Just ordinary people. Like you. Like me."

"You would use it, would you?" He sneered. "What would you know of its true power? You still don't understand half of what it can do."

"I'm looking at what it can do," she said. "When did you last sleep? Hm, Arthur? What was your last dream?"

She had struck something. "They're all the same," he whispered. "They—" 

But what it was she would never learn. As the words were ready to spill from his greying lips, he clamped them tightly.

"So close," Lara said quietly.

Arthur shuddered. "You will hand it over!" He darted into his pocket, drew a pistol and flung his arm up. The nozzle shook violently. 

Lara genteelly raised her hands. "You're stronger than this, Arthur."

This time it was fear and horrible isolation that answered. "No. I'm not."

Lara slowly reached behind her neck—and snapped the clasp shut. And vanished.

Arthur saw a flittering streak of jeweled green—shot wide—then felt the air change behind him. An arm encircled his neck as his knees buckled. The warm gun was wrenched out of his hand and thrown aside. He thrashed twice, uselessly.

The lord began to cry silently. 

Lara kept a solid grip as the morphological confusion settled. She was fighting the urge to stick her tongue in the intruder's ear.

"It's overrrp, Arthur."

He had all but gone limp, shivering with adrenaline's crashing debt. Lara shifted her feet to take his weight.

"I've lost too much," he murmured. "I've given myself to it..."

And that was the cruelty of the Protean Dream. The power was not a God's, but your own. Your life force, transfiguring your body and your mind, a repeated transaction with an incalculable buyer's premium. The pendant took from you with increasing greed until it was full and you were spent. Past owners had been found aged beyond reason, hand stretched out beside the shining jewels. Other times, they hadn't been found at all. Just the pendant, sparkling innocently, while a dazed cat slunk away, mindless and a stranger to itself.

Arthur rolled his head back to rest on her shoulder. He was panting gently, making it an obscenely intimate gesture. The pendant bit into Lara's collarbone.

"I'm nothing, you know. I can't leave without it."

She was hoping she'd misheard "live". Neither was comforting.

"I can't let it take another victim."

His voice was fragile, childlike. "Will you use it again?"

Lara shook her head. "No."

"Sir Alan used to fly. It was all he would talk about. The old bastard always had self-control. Christmas and Easter, he used to say. See the world in a snow globe..."

He sighed and the pendant dug into Lara's skin. She gritted her teeth.

"You can still walk away," she lied. "I can let you go, and you can go back to your life. I've heard people recover—"

"No."

Her cheek exploded in pain as he slammed his head back. Unbalanced, he twisted and pushed, sending them tumbling to the floor, lamp smashing into darkness beside them. Lara bolted upright but in a flash he was on her, hands scrabbling at her throat.

" _Mine!_ "

The clasp snapped and she screamed, lunging for his eyes as he wrapped the cord around his neck, tight enough to choke-and she fell forward as the weight vanished and the pendant hit the ground.

Wings flapped hysterically in the room, loud as a waterfall. Lara scrambled on hands and knees to the window, shifted the latch and jerked at the pane. It slid up suddenly and she nearly fell out, catching herself in time to feel the rake of claws across her face as the bird tore out into the open night sky.

Lara steadied herself against the window frame, breathing heavily. The cuts flinched from her dabbing fingertips but they could wait. A week's worth of fatigue rolled over her and she slid to the floor.

On the carpet, bathing in weak citylight, the Dream sparkled.

**Author's Note:**

>  _esse quam videri_ \-- to be, rather than to seem
> 
> Auctioneers are [highly skilled people](https://www.nytimes.com/1995/01/03/arts/going-once-going-twice-the-art-of-the-auctioneer.html) with a real showman's flair and eagle eyes. A sense of humour goes over well too, alongside nerves of steel.
> 
> Auctions themselves can get a bit heated, leading to [buyer's remorse](https://observer.com/2018/03/christies-sothebys-lawsuits-show-what-happens-when-buyers-back-out/). Ever used the excuse "My Cat Made Me Do It?"
> 
> Enjoy this well-edited and [highly entertaining look](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeqX_XKXJSA) into what goes on behind the scenes at a Christie's auction. (slight seizure warning at 0:47) I found this video after I finished the fic while composing these end notes. If I'd found it earlier, this would have been a heist fic.
> 
> For an actual auction, Christie's often posts live streams on youtube.
> 
> This work was inspired by the [Maharajas & Mughal Magnificence auction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IBmJjtiDzk), and the Protean Dream was originally the Rajah's dream. The lots in that auction were [absolutely breathtaking](https://www.christies.com/features/Auction-results-Maharajas-Mughal-Magnifcence-collection-9969-1.aspx?sc_lang=en#FID-9969).
> 
> The note Lara sent with the gift basket said "Get better soon".
> 
> P.S. A kudos is lovely, a comment makes my day every time <3


End file.
